Ptolemy's Gate

higher, toward the ceiling.
    "Show them something else, Hopkins!" Makepeace called. "Put on a show!"
    Everyone's eyes were craning upward. Kitty took her chance. Slowly, slowly, she backed away from the table. One step, two . . . No one had noticed; all were watching the scholar perform acrobatic feats high against the ceiling, trailing gouts of flame from his fingertips. . .
    Kitty turned and ran. At the end of the hall the double doors were open. Her feet were noiseless on the thick, soft rugs. Her hands were tied, which made the running awkward, but in seconds she was through—out into a corridor of stone, with oil paintings on the wall and glass cases with ornaments of gold----She headed right; the corridor ended at an open door.
    Kitty plunged through. She halted, cursed. An empty room, perhaps an official's study: a desk, a case of books, a pentacle on the floor. It was a dead end.
    With a gasp of frustration, she turned, ran back the way she had come—along the corridor, past the double doors, around another corner—
    —and collided full pelt with something hard and heavy. Thrown to the side, she instinctively tried to break her fall with an outstretched hand—but her arms were bound, she could not do so; she landed heavily on the flagstones.
    Kitty looked up and caught her breath. A man stood over her, framed against the ceiling globes; a tall man, bearded, dressed in black. Bright blue eyes considered her, black brows runkled in a frown.
    "Please!" Kitty gasped. "Please, help me!"
    The bearded man smiled. A gloved hand reached down.
    In the Hall of Statues Mr. Hopkins had returned to earth. The faces of the conspirators were filled with wonder; two of the men were pulling rugs away from the center of the room. As Kitty was brought in, half choked, hanging suspended by her collar from the bearded man's upraised grip, they stopped and dropped the rugs again. One by one, everyone turned to look at her.
    A deep voice spoke at Kitty's shoulder. "What about this girl? I caught her making for the street."
    The ginger-haired man shook his head. "Blimey. Didn't even notice she had gone."
    Mr. Makepeace stepped forward, a petulant frown upon his face. "Ms. Jones, we really have no time for such distractions...." He scowled, shrugged and turned away. "At first her presence amused me, but to be frank she interests me no longer. You may kill her."

23

    Nathaniel saw the mercenary dump Kitty on the rug; he saw him fling back his cape, reach into his belt, and draw forth a long knife, curved like a scimitar. He saw him reach out to clutch her hair, lift up her head, expose her throat . . .
    "Wait!" Nathaniel stepped forward; he spoke with as much authority as he could muster. "Don't touch her! I want her alive."
    The mercenary's hands paused. He looked up at Nathaniel with his steady pale blue eyes. Then, slowly and very deliberately, he continued to pull Kitty's head back and bring the knife around.
    Nathaniel cursed." Wait, I said."
    The conspirators were watching with some amusement. Rufus Lime's pale, damp face grimaced. "You're hardly in a position to be so lordly, Mandrake."
    "On the contrary, Rufus. Quentin has invited me to join your company. And after seeing Mr. Hopkins's remarkable demonstration, I'm delighted to agree to that proposal. The results are most impressive. That means I'm one of you now."
    Quentin Makepeace had been busy unbuttoning his emerald frock coat. His eyes were narrowed, calculating; he looked at Nathaniel askance. "You have decided to fall in with our little scheme?"
    Nathaniel met his gaze as calmly as he could. "I have indeed," he said. "Your plan is an act of genius, a masterstroke. I only wish I'd paid more attention to you when you showed me that commoner the other day. But I intend to rectify that now. In the meantime, strictly speaking, the girl is still my prisoner, Quentin. I have. . . plans for her. No one touches her, save me.
    Makepeace rubbed his chin; he did not answer. The mercenary adjusted the knife a little in his hand. Kitty gazed sightlessly at the floor. Nathaniel felt his heart thudding against his chest.
    "Very well." Makepeace moved suddenly. "The girl is yours. Put her down, Verroq. John, you have spoken well and have confirmed my good opinion of you. But take heed: words are easy—actions are better! In a moment we shall free you and watch as you bond with a demon of your choice. But first I shall prepare for my own summoning! Burke! Withers! Clear those rugs